I did a prayer of thanksgiving that all the heavy stuff rumbling over our heads was from our own artillery. Filled with gratitude that I wasn’t on the receiving end I did wonder and imagined how the individual German soldier was faring on the other side of those dragon teeth. I am sure that not many could sleep. Artillery fire is to me one of the most fearsome and frustrating parts of combat. It is totally impersonal as some one is raining death and destruction on you from miles away. My reaction was always one of cold rage of frustration. Unpleasant and unwelcome as they are, even the fearsome Panther tanks or the awesome Tiger tanks can be seen. While it is a small comfort, at least you know and can see your adversary. I was always intrigues by the variegated reaction of various men to imminent danger and found that reaction highly unpredictable.
       About an hour before dawn, Col. Gerard and myself headed for our bunker of yesterday afternoon. It was as muddy, cold and clammy as yesterday. As the first rays of light heralded the new day, our tanks and attack company began their assault toward the town. There was more resistance than the evacuation scenes of yesterday would indicate. Finally, our forces were through the dragon teeth and had reached the edge of town and the pillboxes of the Siegfried Line.
      One tank commander with a deep Georgian accent called in, saying his efforts to knock out a pillbox was futile as his shells kept bouncing off. The Colonel suggested a change in ammo that penetrated and the pillbox blew up
       While we could see little of the attack action except the tanks lumbering down the road to the town, the radio reports from the attacking companies kept us well informed as to the progress of the battle. The sounds of gunfire, the shouting of orders, the screams of the wounded and the roar of the tank motors all came over that SCR-300 radio into the sanctuary of our bunker.
      When news arrived that our troops had reached the far side of the town, Col. Gerard decided he would head down the road and into town. I wasn’t exactly filled with that kind of enthusiasm as the road was still under fire, so I delayed my journey. Finally, a fellow from the Intelligence Unit and myself headed for town. We paused halfway there on the bank of a cut thru a small hill. This gave us protection from crossfire. While deciding whether to make a run of the remaining distance, we saw a familiar figure approaching. It was General Gavin carrying his ever present M-1 slung over his shoulder and accompanied by a major. Gavin asked us for a status report. I told him that our troops had the town secured and that Col. Gerard was in town selecting a house for a Command Post. We also warned him that there was some small arms fire across the remaining road. He thanked us and walked right down the road into town. The major followed but kept running from one ditch to the other ditch all the way into town. Quite a sight.
      From where we sat we could see two of our tanks. One was on the road right at the edge of town, and the other one was off the road to the left. Then the motor on the one on the left roared and the tank moved about 5 feet when we saw a huge flash on the left tread of the tank. It had hit a land mine. That side seemed to rise about 4 feet and then drop. Barely had it hit the ground than the turret flew open and in a flash four tankers poured out. They came up past us with their musette bags in one hand. As they passed us they shouted they were going to get another tank.
      We decided if General Gavin could traverse the road so could we. I ran my arms thru the shoulder straps of my radio. The SCR-300 radio will fairly well cover one’s back from the shoulders to the buttocks. The upper half is a transmitter-receiver with phone hung on the side connected with a cord. The lower half is a large heavy dry cell battery used for power.
      We had gone about 100 yards when we came upon one of the many gruesome one encounters on a battlefield. A German soldier apparently had been killed in the assault that morning. He was lying in the right track on the rather narrow road. The body was squashed to about 2 inches or less thick as our tanks had repeatedly run over him. He looked like a one dimension person.
      My mission now was to find our Battalion CP and report to the Colonel. Just as we reached the tank parked on the road at the edge of town, we heard the whistle of incoming mortars. Everyone dove for cover. I tried to go under the back of the tank but it was too crowded. Just to the left was a demolished house. I dove into a space between a standing wall and a wood beam about 16 inches square. I pulled my knees up under me and at the same time brought my head and helmet down toward my shoulders and to the top of the radio.
      In the past I was always amazed at fellows that expressed security when inside a tent as if a thin wall of canvas could afford protection against flying steel fragments. And here I was seeking false security under my beloved but frail radio which didn’t even cover my rump. I remember thinking that that part of my anatomy was expendable as I pulled my helmet down deeper into my shoulders. It is sure funny the thoughts that flash thru one’s mind in moments of stress, fear and danger.
      The mortars were exploding all around our area. I heard fellows calling for the medics. Then the explosions lessened and just when I thought the barrage was over there was a blinding flash and simultaneously it felt as if someone had hit me on the right shoulder with a sledgehammer. The force drove my face in the dirt. I had foolishly left my right arm resting on top of the large beam. As I raised my head from the dust the though flashed through my mind, “My right arm has been blown off, now I’ll have to learn to write with my left hand!!” I looked over. My arm was still on top of the beam. There wasn’t any blood squirting. But I couldn’t move my arm and my back and shoulder were in great pain. Some blood appeared near my wrist. As I slowly got up I feared the worse. The fellow from Intelligence came from the backside of the building yelling my name. He took one look at me and said, “What in hell happened to your radio?” He helped me get it off my back. It was completely smashed. Then he took the battery off and found an inch square piece of mortar shell embedded about half way thru the battery. He gave it to me so I could keep it with my Purple Heart.
      Apparently, the mortar fragment came from a mortar shell which had exploded in the tree right behind me. It had entered the radio over my right shoulder passing diagonally thru the radio about 2 inches above my back and finally coming to rest embedded in the battery.
      My right shoulder seemed dislocated and some flying debris had banged up my lower arm. Slowly some feeling started to return to the arm. My back and shoulder felt like hell. My chief concern was to report to Colonel Gerard.
      I found the CP and the Colonel on the other side of the town and in the basement of the second house from the end of the street. The houses looked normal at first glance except there were no glass windows or window frames in any of the houses. Also there were no doors. The walls appeared about 16 inches thick and were of stone or concrete. Each house was a fortress.
      Reporting to the Colonel and briefing him on my condition as well as the condition of my radio, he asked me if I could hang on for another day after a stop to an aid station. He explained there were several reasons for the request. The Battalion was desperately short of radio personnel. And also the Division was being relieved in a day or so and then was to return to our camp at Sissonne, France. If I wanted to I certainly could go to the hospital but then I would perhaps go into an Airborne pool and may not get reassigned back to the 1st Battalion. I told him I would stick around if I could get the aid station to straighten out my shoulder.